


I Am Phil Lester

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Gen, Parasites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil wakes up with a throbbing pain in his neck and no memory, except his identity. He’s tied to a boy with chestnut brown hair with a voice he quickly falls in love with. But something’s wrong with the boy’s eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Phil Lester

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

_The light was beautiful. It was almost hypnotising as it danced around his iris, sparkling and pure. I knew I had to run, to get away from him. But even if it wasn’t him anymore, I couldn’t help standing frozen, my hand moving on its own accord to shake hands with the enemy. He was beautiful. Nobody could deny that. PJ took a step forwards, his lips stretched into a warm and welcoming smile._

“Don’t be afraid.”

The first thing he felt when he drifted into consciousness, was the throbbing pain in the back of his neck.

There was nothing. That’s what scared him the most. He strained for a memory, anything about his family, his school life and friends, his first job, any pets he had. There was nothing. His brain was completely wiped of the person he had been. All which remained was his identity; stuck in his mind as if it was bullet pointed.

_Phil Lester_

_Age: 26_

_Height: 6’4_

Phil woke up with a startled gasp, cracking his neck when he lifted his head up. He ached all over. Phil made a noise- a grunt which was disgruntled, a cross between a moan and a cry. The first thing he realised, was that his wrists didn’t seem to want to co-operate, neither did his hands. His groggy mind was quick to notice this, and the first, or rather second conscious thought which hit him, was that he was tied to someone, and that someone had really, really cold hands.

“Hello?!” his voice was a squeak, and then he was fumbling with the tough rope around his wrists- the texture made him grit his teeth. He tried to move his legs, but they too were tied together in front of him, he felt loops of rope around his ankles, bonding them together.

Black. It was just darkness enveloping him.  Phil blinked, trying to get his bearings, trying to find a shape in the darkness. He could feel icy-cold concrete beneath him, and was absolutely sure his backside was numb. There was nothing. He was nowhere.

“Where am I?” Phil managed to spit through dry, cracked lips. He ran his tongue which was gritty and felt like sandpaper- over his teeth, and swallowed. “Hello?” he whimpered, and when his new companion didn’t reply or even move, he let out a frustrated sigh and jolted his own wrists which had been binded with the other person. Phil took a deep breath and told himself not to panic. Instead, he pressed himself against his companion and felt his own t-shirt brush against the other person’s shirt. “What’s your name?” Phil whispered. “Please tell me your name.”

No response. Phil let out a scoff, which might have been a laugh if he hadn’t found himself trapped in what felt like a never ending void of darkness. There was no sound except his panicky breaths which pierced his ears every time he started to have a panic attack. Phil closed his eyes, breathed slowly, in and out and let his eyes flicker open once again.

“Tell me your name.” He said, and his tone has changed drastically from the whining moan it had been a few minutes earlier. When he once again received no response, he squirmed in his bonds and cried out, smashing his head against his companions. He expected a cry, or a yell, even a pained gasp and grunt. But there was nothing, only silence and the sound of Phil’s breaths deteriorating. Phil tried again, leaning against the other’s back. But all he got in response was his own whine of terror. “Please!” Phil felt pathetic tears sliding down his cheeks. “You have to- to tell me what’s going on!” He stammered over his words and tried insanely hard not to lose it right there and then.

Nothing.

“Okay,” Phil held his breath and twisted in his bonds and swiped his eyes on his t-shirt. “I can tell you everything about me, okay?” he forced a smile and pressed his head against his companions, nodding, as if making them nod too. “Well, my name is Phil Lester,” he said, but his voice seemed to break. “I’m twenty six years old,” he said, while he talked, he twisted around at an awkward angle to try and get a look at his equally unfortunate companion. But it was so dark, all he could really make out was a slumped shape, the outline of a torso and head, awkwardly hanging limply. Phil wondered if the two of them had been drugged. His fellow prisoner could still be out of it, dosed on god knows what. Phil twisted back around and found himself staring aimlessly into the dark, trying to pinpoint anything. Fucking anything.

“How old are you?” he asked quietly. When he got no response once again, he cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay,” he murmured shakily. “I…” he broke off once again. “I don’t know?” he might have laughed or cried, he wasn’t sure. But one thing he was absolutely sure of, was that he couldn’t remember his life. “Can you remember?” he whispered. “Is that why you’re not talking? Because you can’t remember anything?”

He waited in tense silence for some kind of acknowledgement, but of course there was nothing. Phil pulled a face and felt a strand of his obsidian hair fall in his eyes.

_Obsidian._ He thought. I have black hair.

And _blue eyes_. His mind reminded him.

“Black hair, blue eyes,” he murmured to himself, then repeated it as if he was terrified he would forget. “Black hair and blue eyes.”

After a few minutes of muttering _black hair_ and _blue eyes_ to himself monotonously, Phil let his head rest on his companion’s shoulders. “Do I know you?” he murmured softly. “Maybe you’re my brother and I don’t even know.” he was greeted then, with the familiar sound of silence, of course he was.

“My name is Dan.” a voice, Phil realised, an actual voice which wasn’t his own, pierced the silence, and he felt his heart jump into his chest. “Dan.” he repeated, sounding his new friend’s name out on his tongue. Dan sounded younger- at least in his early twenties. He had a southern accent, and his tone had a strange tinge to it. Some kind of metallic, computerised drawl. As if Dan was some kind of android. But Phil didn’t care. Dan’s voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It was human, real, and right next to him. He wasn’t alone.

He took a moment to register that his companion- or “Dan” was awake. A million questions flew to his thoughts, but the only which actually managed to choke out of his mouth was,

“I thought you were dead.”  Which was true. Dan hadn’t moved, and Phil was sure he hadn’t heard the boy even breathe.

There was a chuckle. “Of course I’m not dead, Phil.”

Phil froze. His chest tightened. “How..” he twisted around to stare at the strange young man. The words “how do you know my name?” were on his tongue, but got jumbled in his throat where instead of meeting eyes with equally terrified ones of Dan, it seemed instead of seeing eyes he saw…well, he couldn’t explain it. Where Dan’s eyes should have been, and yes they were still there, it wasn’t like the strange boy had no eyes.

But that’s the thing. Dan’s eyes were glowing a brilliant silvery blue. It illuminated the darkness between them, and Phil swallowed hard. He wanted the darkness back. Dan caught him staring and because of the overwhelming light which sparkled in Dan’s eyes, Phil finally saw a face to the strange boy he had been tied to. Dan had dark hair which fell in a fringe over his left eye. His expression was blank, but Phil could detect the corners of his lips twisting into a smirk.

Phil couldn’t help it. “Your eyes,” he said, or rather breathed. He blinked then, as if the tendril of light occupying Dan’s eyes would disappear. But it stayed. Taunting him.

Dan smiled. “What about them?” his voice was melodic and hypnotising. Something spiked in Phil’s memory, and he twisted back around to stare straight forwards. The memory hit him like a bolt of lightning, passing through him in the fraction of a second, before dispersing into nothing.

But he caught it, and embraced the memory like a human mother and her child.

_A…human?_

The memory was blurred, like a tape or video on rewind. Colours were blurred together and some voice were incoherent. But he knew instantly where he was. The second he saw it. The name came back to him, and he knew it well, the name had been tucked away in his mind, finally triggered by the memory.

_The BBC Broadcasting house._

_A long white corridor._

_Floor 5_. _He remembered suddenly._

_He was walking, no running down it_. _“How much time do we have?”_  His own voice. Panicked.

A boy next to him, in a black leather jacket and jeans. He was holding something in his right hand- something sleek and silver.

A knife. No, Phil’s amnesia seemed to get progressively better as the memory went on.

A scalpel.

“ _About fifteen minutes_ ,” Another voice. Phil felt his stomach clench, his mind reel into overdrive. It was Dan. The boy he was tied to. The boy with the glowing eyes.

The boy in the memory seemed different somehow- his brown eyes were normal, free from glowing tendrils of sparkling light. He looked- terrified. There was no trace of the smirking boy with the knowing eyes who was with him right now.

The boy in the memory- Dan- smashed his hands against the glass as both of them came to a dead end- a huge glass door with the words “PUSH TO OPEN” didn’t budge when his own hands-

**Wait.** His hands. He forced himself to go back- right when his own hands had tried to slam against the glass, failing in getting it open. The memory was blurred, but he could just about notice the palms of his hands were streaked with red. No, streaked with blood.

_“I can feel it,”_ Dan- the Dan in his memory, whispered as he tried to get the door open. _“Oh god, Phil. It’s- it’s in my head!”_ He gripped his hair and tugged at it, chocolate brown eyes crazed and terrified. _“Get it out of me!”_ he thrust the scalpel into Phil’s blood stained hands and Phil almost felt the metallic steel himself. Dan’s eyes were wild.

_“We need to get somewhere quiet,”_ his voice was strained. Then there was his own voice;

_“But the doors!”_

_“Then we smash our way in!”_ He turned around and started to run back down the corridor. Memory Phil followed on his tail.

_“I can feel it too.”_ His own voice. Broken. Barely audible. _“I can feel it taking everything away, wiping everything I am.”_

Dan reached a huge metal door- he tugged on the handle and it slid open, allowing the two of them to slip inside.

The room was familiar.

_A studio._ The word hit him. The studio was small with a _mixing desk, microphones and computer’s_ setup around the circumference.  

_“We have about five minutes,”_ Dan got to work setting things up. He set his backpack down and knelt on the floor, beginning to unpack the contents.

_“Barricade the door,”_ Dan had a med-kit, a bottle of water, and some bandages.

Memory Phil didn’t move. Only stared at his hands which were caked in blood.

_“I couldn’t save him,”_ his own voice- choked with emotion and fear. He leaned against the wall near the door and slipped down to his knees, wrapping his arms around his chest.

_“I tried to get it out of him,”_ his voice breaks, and he rests his head between his legs.

_“Don’t dwell on what happened to the others,”_ _Dan winced and tenderly touched the back of his neck._ Memory Phil rose to his feet and warily walked over. _“Are you okay?”_

Dan scoffed. He was readying the scalpel and setting paper towels on the floor, which was rough carpet. “Apart from having an alien parasite inching towards my brain right now, wiping my memories?” tears were trailing down his cheeks. _“I can’t even remember my sixteenth birthday,”_ he cleared his throat and forced a smile. “What about you?” his eyes twinkled and memory Phil felt a stab of fear, because Dan Howell’s eyes were starting to glitter- the parasite beginning to latch onto everything he was. If you really looked at Dan, you could see the tiniest glimpse of something _beautiful_ starting to take over.

_“No.”_ Memory Phil admitted. _“I’m terrified.”_

Dan held up the scalpel. _“You heard what Scott said,”_ he winced again, touching the back of his neck. _“The parasite was placed just right at the back of the neck,”_ he mimed cutting into something with the scalpel. _“All we need to do is make a small incision-”_

He’s cut off when there’s a bang at the door, and memory Phil hisses something- a profanity? _a swear word_ , and backs away slowly, stumbling. _“Dan, they’re here!”_

Dan’s expression was unreadable. _“We do it now, just fucking ignore them!”_

_“Dan?”_ A familiar voice, causing memory Phil to let out a shrill cry. _“Dan, we need to go!”_

_PJ was outside. “Dan, there’s no point fighting it. You’re on 89%,” the voice taunted._

_Dan didn’t reply. He only stood there, frozen. His mouth was open, twisted in disgust. But his eyes seemed to be his, and_ **not-his** _. Dan’s eyes were slowly losing their chocolatey colour- the iris instead spiderwebbed with glittering silvery blue thread-like things like…..legs._

Memory Phil felt his knees weaken at the utter hopelessness of the situation. He could only watch as his best friend’s mind was wiped from existence and replaced with a being from another world. A being who had single handedly taken over the planet.

_“Run!”_ Dan’s eyes were wide and frightened, teeth gritted, he tried to take a step forwards, but the thing inside him must have been slowly gaining control of his limbs.

The door flew open, and Phil staggered backwards. His neck was throbbing, he could feel it inside him, latching itself onto his consciousness, his memory and his life.

_“Phil,”_ PJ was on his own, standing in the doorway with a friendly smile and warm eyes. But the thing inside him, the parasite which had taken him over, what was taking Dan over, was beautiful. Phil remembered something Scott had said when it all started.

_“The light is impossible to look away from. That’s how they get you.”_

Scott was right. PJ was beautiful- the light, the thing inside him ignited him into something which wasn’t quite human. But it was tantalising. PJ held out a hand and smiled. “Please don’t be afraid Phil.”

And that was it. He wasn’t scared anymore.

-

Phil came to after the memory drifted away slowly. He was back with the boy- back with Dan from his memory. Except Dan was like PJ - he wasn’t human anymore. The thing- the- alien parasite- had taken them both over.

He was back in the darkness.

“I see you remember Phil Lester’s memories,” Dan said softly. Phil grimaced, remembering the thing that was inside Dan. He squirmed in the ropes binding him. “I remember now!” he ignored Dan and screamed into the darkness. “What, are you really going to make me into one of you?” he challenged with a growl, before thrusting himself forwards, trying unsuccessfully to get away from Dan- no, the thing in Dan’s body.

Dan only chuckled. “You don’t understand, do you?” the younger boy let out a sigh.

Phil bristled. “Understand what?!”

Dan only continued to laugh, and before Phil could yell at him, or try and get out of his bonds, suddenly- there was light. Beautiful, bright, shining light which blinded him the second it hit him. Phil shut his eyes quickly and squirmed. “What..” he whispered slowly. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Open your eyes, Phil.” Dan only giggled.

Phil felt his chest tighten, his heart start to beat progressively harder. His eyes flickered open, and after wincing at the light which now flooded the room- emitting from huge bulbs which lined the ceiling, he realised that he was in a room of mirrors. The walls were mirrors, the ceiling and floor he was sat on were mirrors. He stared at himself, his image, projected in every surface; him and Dan, still tied back to back. He recognised Dan fully now. He was still wearing his leather jacket, which was wrapped around his waist, his hair was still a chestnut brown, falling in a fringe.

“Hello.” Dan turned to him, and Phil bit back a scream when he finally saw what Dan had become. His eyes were fully taken over- blazing a brilliant, beautiful, hypnotising light.

He looked away. And then he wondered with sudden curiosity, how he managed to look away.

“Don’t you want to look at yourself?” Dan asked, still grinning. Phil didn’t want to- but he felt the overwhelming urge. He stared straight at the wall of mirrors across from him, at his image projected in every reflection.

He saw himself- or rather, he saw Phil Lester. The twenty six year old man with dark obsidian hair- with the shirt covered in clouds. But looking past all that, he stared at Phil’s face. Pale skin, a dark bruise printed around his left eye. Phil Lester stared back at him, but there was something not quite right with his eyes. Because when Phil Lester looked closer, he realised with a breathy gasp that he wasn’t Phil Lester at all.

He was just the _thing_ , the _parasite_ entangled in the young man’s eyes, with his memories.

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel?? ;)


End file.
